Tricks and Their Fools
by madintheattic14
Summary: Loki escapes his punishment, but he is stranded on Midgard without use of his magic. He tells the story of how he survived while masquerading as a mortal. Perhaps he learned something, or perhaps he is lying.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer-I don't own Loki or any of the Avengers. They're Marvel's.

Tell you a story? What gives you any reason to think I'm required to tell you a story?

I was a prince and a king, a master magician. I have led armies and would have ruled Midgard if not for my oaf of a brother and his ridiculous mortal friends. I do what I wish. I never _have _to do anything, especially not for anyone other than myself.

Although, I suppose I could tell you a story just to bring a few things to light. No one ever attempts to see my side of things. Those self-righteous fools always try to shove events into tidy little stacks. I will tell you one thing: chaos cannot be sorted. So, fine I shall enlighten you. But do not think this gives you the right to come crawling to me like a simpering halfwit every time you get bored, and do not forget that you owe me. Now, was there a particular story you had in mind?

Oh, _that_ one. Were you put up to this?

_Um, excuse you? Like I would put anyone up to this, it's kind of personal. Besides, it's not like you can even tell it right anyway._

Do you doubt my ability to tell the story?

_I doubt your ability to tell the truth._

Ooh, never heard that one before.

_Didn't think so Mr. God-of-Embellishment._

Your wit is astounding; it makes me wonder why I continue to endure you. The title you're looking for is: Mr. God-of-Lies-and-Mischief.

_Whatever. And, you keep talking to me because you don't have a choice; I'm in your head._

Yes, thousands of years of existence before now and my life has not been complete due to my internal monologue's lack of a color commentator. Now I can die fulfilled.

_And don't forget it. So, are you going to tell them the story or not?_

I thought you wanted to take over since I'm so offensively unreliable.

_...Fine. That was a bit harsh. Sorry. But really, you don't even know most of what happened. Seriously, you're _really _biased, especially in the beginning, and you spent a pretty large chunk of time captive in various places. Plus, you were all "I'm gonna go party in Niflheim" halfway through-which I'm still mad about, by the way._

First of all, I do not speak that way. Ever. Secondly, if there is any bias, it is towards the truth. Last of all, I thought we discussed this. It was your fault, you have no right to be upset, and it's time you stop going on about the whole thing. The issue is settled. Now, would it trouble you too much to stay silent while I tell the story?

_You can't have a bias towards truth. If it's the truth it wouldn't be biased. Also, _my_ fault?! The issue is most definitely _not _settled, but you're right. It's story time. How about you tell your part, and I tell the parts you don't really know (or were too self-absorbed to remember accurately) which, honestly, is most of it. Agreed?_

Agreed. Although, as per the list of things we need to discuss: it _was_ your fault; mental parenthetical comments are unnecessary and, quite frankly, irritating; make no attempts to lecture me on truthfulness; and please, if you insist on being in my head, keep the blatant invectives to yourself—they are detrimental to my self-esteem. Now, silence.

_Your self-esteem? Really? Now you're just being stu-_

Silence.

_Fine._

I stood in the center of the great hall of Asgard. Ranks of Aesir lined the walls, waiting for Odin to announce my punishment for attempting to overthrow Midgard and threatening the nine realms with war. The events leading up to my fall from the Bifrost were neither forgotten nor appreciated. I waited with the ranks, standing in the center of the hall while they hovered around the walls chattering about the scandal while trying to appear disinterested, watching my father.

Not my real father of course. I watched the man who stole me, lied to me, and raised me to believe I'm a monster while pretending to care. The man who thought to use me for his own purposes and then tossed me away like trash once it was clear his plans would never be realized. The man who told me I was a prince of Asgard, until I became too inconvenient, of course.

Because of the events on Earth, I was nothing but a public shame, dragged back here to be punished like a naughty child. Well, if I was already a disappointment, then what reason had I to cooperate? Whatever the All-Father was planning, my intent was escape. I was not entirely sure how or where I would go afterwards, but between my magic and my wit I felt confident I would soon be at liberty to discover a new purpose-or at the very least-a plan of attack.

My idiot of a brother (Although not my real brother, just as Odin is not my real father. It is a wonder our numerous differences during childhood did not inform me of our lack of a common parentage much sooner.) stood at the foot of the dais, watching me. His gaze was searching, as though he was still looking for the little brother he had once known. Sorry to disappoint you _Thor_, but the brother who loved you died falling off the Bifrost. I was a new man who felt nothing but hate at the sight of the golden fool.

_How is that not biased?_

If you are so incapable of keeping quiet, then perhaps you should tell the story?

_Ugh, sorry. I'll try harder._

Finally, Odin shifted and rose. He spoke his judgment in the firm tone everyone always admires. It was the tone of someone confident and secure in his power, the tone that I'd never been able to replicate exactly, even with my silver tongue and no lack of trying.

"Loki Odinson," so the old man continued the ruse. One would think one so powerful could do better than these feeble attempts to maintain past deceit. One would think he would know better than to keep lying to the prince of lies. "You have been found guilty as a traitor and a murderer. You attempted to overthrow Asgard, and you led an army to seize another realm. As punishment for your misdeeds, you will be bound in chains in the darkest corner of the nine realms.

"Since you have used your powers for selfishness and death, they will be removed until you have learned the value of those you thought beneath you. You will remain, powerless and shackled, until you understand the fault in your actions. If you learn your lessons truly and understand the pain you've caused, I will consider returning you to the ranks of the Aesir. Until that time, you will be cast out."

As if I was not an outcast my entire life.

He kept lying, as if I could not see right through his offering of rehabilitation. He made it clear that night on the Bifrost that he has never expected anything of me despite the claims of 'loving me like a son.' He doesn't even believe his own words; he only offers the loophole as a pathetic salute to the lies of the past.

I suppose he expected I would remain bound until Ragnarok, but since I have been a disappointment my entire life there was no reason to change.

The All-Father raised his hand in a snatching gesture and muttered a spell. At once I felt my magic drain away. In its place was an uncomfortable feeling of helplessness; I had always been able to rely on my powers, even when my oaf of a brother was too busy being…well, himself. This certainly made my plan of escape more difficult.

However, I could not help but think something had been forgotten…Unfortunately, Odin waved his hand again, and I was removed from the room before I could figure it out, flying to the ends of the universe to be fettered like a cur.

The force of the magic swept me off my feet and out of the great hall. All I needed was the tiniest shred of magic to do _something_. I clenched my hands, feeling completely powerless. Here I was, a king, reduced to spending the rest of eternity in chains. I stared at my fists in frustration as space flashed by all around.

And then I figured it out. That old fool had left me enough magic to maintain my mortal appearance. True, shape shifting required little enough and I'd have to revert to Jotun form for a time, but it was well worth it to escape punishment.

I could not help but laugh at my luck at the All-Father's oversight. He always neglected me for being a monstrosity, but he forgets that very fact when he thinks he is finally rid of me. My skin turned blue and my body temperature dropped as I summoned the last bit of power and waited for the right moment. As I approached Midgard, I used the magic to push off course. It was just enough to send me shooting out of the power that was carrying me along.

I plummeted towards the planet Thor loved so much, no longer in the grip of the All-Father's spell. I was not much looking forward to the landing, but at least there was some degree of freedom until I could figure out how to regain my magic. And, there was no telling what kind of trouble I could cause on this pathetic mortal realm. They would all learn the proper respect for Loki, god of mischief.

I shut my eyes and let myself fall, laughing the whole way.

"He's escaped." Odin had felt Loki slip out of his spell.

"How?" Thor was taken aback by the comment. His brother was clever, but he couldn't just slip out of Odin's grasp, especially without magic. "Father, send me after him! Before he is lost again."

"It's no use. He is already gone." Odin paused. "But this may be for the best."

"What?" Now Thor was even more confused. "You said you were sending him to be bound until he learned the error of his ways! How could it be better that he escaped?"

"We both know he would never benefit from confinement. It would only give his bitterness the chance to fester until it became a poison to us all. And I never discount the possibility of Loki discovering a way out of a difficult situation. This way is best. Perhaps the Norns will lead him to what he needs."

"But we cannot wait in blindness while-"

"Peace, Thor. We _will _wait. And we will hope that your brother learns something before he destroys himself. He should be harmless enough without his powers." Odin turned to look at his son.

"Now, I have a task for you." He held out a small loop of gold. Embedded in the ring was an emerald whose colors seemed to swirl if one looked closely. "I could not remove Loki's magic completely, but I have sealed it deeply inside of him. He has no hope of unlocking it himself. This ring is the key, which I now entrust it to you. In time you will find use of it. If you act wisely there may yet be hope for your brother."

It was a beautiful day in May as a yellow Jeep traveled down a road on the southern coast of Maine. The young woman had her hand out the window as she drove along listening to her music at a higher volume than was strictly necessary. The Jeep was loaded down with all the trappings of a college dorm room arranged in the complicated and precarious packing scheme that can only be understood by recent graduates in a hurry to get home for the summer.

Everything was completely normal until the Jeep met a crater occupying at least three quarters of the narrow road. The girl slowed to the Jeep to a stop and got out to investigate the damage.

She let out a yelp when she saw what lay in the center of the depression. She scrambled into the crater as fast as she could without twisting an ankle, hurrying to the man on the ground. She knelt down when she reached him. He was wearing strange clothes that seemed a little worse for wear; they were ripped in several places and looked a bit…singed? His long black hair fell over his face that was covered in scratches and asphalt dust. There was no clear explanation for how the crater came to be, or how he came to be in the middle of it-at least no _reasonable_ explanation. Although, he didn't exactly seem normal, there was definitely something strange about him. His skin looked strangely tinted, almost blue. But it faded even as she looked, so it couldn't have been more than her imagination and too much driving. She tentatively poked the stranger's shoulder…

And almost jumped into the air when he groaned and tried to open his eyes. "Holy shit!" she tried to calm her heart rate as she stared down at him. He was _alive_?! Somehow this guy had survived whatever had happened, and he needed help desperately. Well, probably. How exactly does one survive the apparent situation in the first place?

She slipped her arm under his shoulders and tried to support his head. "Dude, do you have a name or something?"

Green eyes fluttered open slowly, rolled around, and settled on her face, slightly out of focus. The man let out a groan.

"Do you have a name?" she asked again.

He made a vaguely recognizable series of sounds before falling unconscious. The first was definitely like an L, and she thought she heard a K-or maybe a C? The was also a type of undefined "eh" sound at the end that may or may or may not have been exhaling.

"Umm…L-k-eh…Luke?" She asked hopefully. The unconscious man didn't reply. "Right, we're gonna go with Luke for now. How does that sound? Luke is a good name."

Silence.

"…Yeah." The young woman glanced at the man in her arms and then at the surrounding area for anything that suggested that this situation was caused by anything other than him literally falling out of the sky. With no sign forthcoming she pursed her lips, began to trudge back towards the Jeep with the strange, battered man in tow, and tried to determine how she was going to rearrange her stuff to fit him in the front seat.

A/N: I watched Thor/Avengers and fell in love with Loki's character. (Yes I'm one of those people.) I kicked the story around my head for a while until it grew into something I liked. Then I realized it wouldn't work unless I wrote it first person from Loki's perspective, which led to countless hours of letting the Trickster live inside my head so he could tell the story. It's been a bizarre experience, and I would appreciate any comments or suggestions to make the story better. I want to make things people enjoy (and if I do it wrong I'm slightly fearful of what he will do to my sanity).


	2. Chapter 2

My sleep was plagued by dreams.

The memories came first: pleasant images from childhood, then adolescence when it became clear who was the favored prince; countless battles beside my brother and his friends; the recent battles against him and his new friends; Asgard and the Bifrost, followed by the disappointment in father's—no, Odin's—as he denounced me once more. For some reason the happy memories were the worst. Reminders of what I had lost, what I had never truly had. Still, that wasn't so bad.

Faces floated in and out of focus: Odin, Laufey, my mother, the so-called 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes,' and Thor. Always Thor, his eyes always searching. Asking me to come home, looking for his brother. I did not have a home, and he never had a brother. It was all a lie, the biggest lie, crafted so perfectly I am almost ashamed I did not come up with it myself. Yet, even those were not as bad as the horrors created from my own imagination.

I saw myself standing over Asgard, as the rightful king, but when I looked into my own reflection it was Thor staring back. I was walking through the shelves of the library where I had spent so much of my time growing up. I reached for a book, only to recoil at the sight of blue skin, the mark of the monsters that had haunted every Asgardian child's nightmares. I was walking through the palace gardens with my mother, or the woman I thought was my mother. She smiled and stroked my hair back like when I was young. But this time was different; she looked down in horror at her hand. It had turned black where she had touched me. The frostbite spread up her arm and over her body until she shattered like glass. Ice spread out from my feet towards the plants. The beautiful gardens turned black and wilted around me. Such visions came one after the other, each more terrible than the last. But that wasn't the part that haunts me.

The worst part was the cold.

I had never had a problem in lower temperatures. I had always thrived in winter when the others made every excuse to remain around the hearth fire. The ability was no doubt a product of my Jotun blood. In the past it had never seemed important, just another difference separating me from others. As it turned out, it had also stopped me from experiencing the terror that usually accompanies extreme cold, the fear of freezing to death. I had never felt my blood turn to ice, never been subject to the chill that slowly works its way through one's body. But I felt it then. The rime haunted me. It chased me through my fevered dreams, touching everything with a layer of frost.

The cold froze my very soul, and I will never forget the feeling.

Even after the visions passed, the cold remained. I don't know how long it lasted, but it felt as if I was alone with the dark and the cold for eternity. I kept plummeting further and further into the endless blackness, until something brought me back.

Finally, something thawed the ever-present chill and chased the darkness away. A tiny warmth coming from everywhere and nowhere. I grabbed onto the small spark of heat and let it carry me out of my nightmares.

I awoke in a strange room. Sun streamed through the gaps in the faded curtains. A dresser stood directly across the room, I saw my reflection in the mirror when I lifted my head. There was also a bed that seemed a twin to the one I currently occupied. I noticed a few things hanging on the walls, but I cared too little to pay them any mind.

I tried to find the heat that had found me in the cold of my dreams. I looked down the length of my arm to see a girl. She seemed to have fallen asleep holding my hand. Her other hand rested next to the pillow, as though it had dropped there following its owner's surrender to slumber. Our arms were tangled in such a way so as to create a cushion for her head.

I could not get a good look at her face because her hair was rather distracting. Curls stuck out in every direction, oblivious to the small band intended to hold them. The sunlight through the window turned her hair every shade of red and orange and gold.

It looked like her head was aflame.

I lay there for a time, contemplating her hair. The colors changed as her steady breathing caused her to shift ever so slightly. However, the movement of waking or some change in my breathing caused her to stir. She blinked sleepily and gave a wide yawn. She then proceeded to rub her eyes, still clutching my hand in her own. She blinked at the extra appendage in confusion for several seconds until slumber receded and her grey eyes focused on my face.

I have never seen a mortal move so fast. She was sitting on the opposite bed before my newly freed hand hit the quilt. She tugged on a loose curl in embarrassment. A blush spread across her skin until her cheeks matched her hair.

"Sorry. You were having a nightmare. You've been asleep for days, and I didn't want you to wake up alone in a strange place. Uh…Guess I fell asleep. And, um, sorry."

Her words came in a torrent that slowly became a trickle. She glanced up to see my reaction. I only stared back. I hadn't recovered enough for even my silver tongue to reply to such an outburst.

"Umm…I'll go…make coffee? Yeah, coffee sounds like a good idea." She backed towards the door, attempting to explain why exactly coffee was such a good idea.

Honestly I prefer tea. Thor was fond of coffee, but I prefer beverages that taste less of dirt.

The girl smiled as she reached the door and then disappeared from sight. Although it was odd, I could have sworn her eyes were grey, but for a moment they seemed as green as my own.

I shrugged away the thought and continued to observe my surroundings. There certainly was not much to see. The only furniture present was the mirror and dresser across the room and a small table that served as a nightstand for the two beds. Matching lamps sat on either end, perhaps for nightly reading.

The walls and floor were old wood, scuffed with years of use. The closest did not seem to have a door, and it was empty but for a few bare hangers and what appeared to be my own coat and boots. I checked and found myself in just my undershirt and trousers. I suppose I should feel grateful for that at least. I had not been forced to suffer the indignity of being undressed by a mortal.

The whole room looked well past its prime. Despite signs of wear, it did not appear necessarily shabby. The room was neat, without any sign of dust. The bedspreads were aged, but well mended. Overall, far beneath the housing of a prince of Asgard, but, seeing as I was no longer a prince of Asgard and the room was acceptably tidy despite its age, this place would serve as sufficient lodging for the time being.

I tried to focus on the details of the room as a distraction from the events that led me here, but unfortunately there simply wasn't enough furniture to occupy me very long. I could not help but feel the emptiness left behind as a result of the All-Father taking my magic. It was a small comfort knowing that I still had a small spark in case of emergency, but being forced into the appearance of the monster almost outweighed the benefits. Even the oblivious mortals would notice, and surely news of a frost giant would soon reach the friends of my brother. No, getting discovered and recaptured would not serve my purposes, so for the time being I was effectively powerless except for my wit and unfailing charm.

'_Wit and unfailing charm?' you flatter yourself._

I tire of your interruptions and impudence.

_Alliteration? I'm_ _impressed._

This is your final warning. If you are continually incapable of silence, I will be forced to do something particularly disagreeable.

_Are you going to torture me with your unfailing charm? Because I'd very much like to see you try._

My threat is not in jest. Now stay silent or you will regret it. Understood?

_Ugh, understood._

Luckily, I was saved from further reflection by the girl's return with two steaming mugs. She handed one to me and then returned to her perch on the opposite bed. She watched me; her eyes were definitely grey, I affirmed, as she blew the steam from her drink.

"Guess I should introduce myself, I'm being rude. My name is Patricia Elizabeth Delling." She pronounced every part clearly. As if she must take particular care to enunciate lest I prove too dimwitted to understand. I immediately liked her less.

"You can pretty much use any nickname you can get from that," She continued. "I'm always open to new variations as long as they aren't derogatory. Oh, except Patty, never call me Patty. Dad calls me Liza, my sister calls me Trisha or Lizzie. I like Beth too, but I've never really had a chance to use that one." Her eyes focused on a distant point as she went on.

I ignored her prattling and focused on my drink. How did she expect to introduce herself when she didn't seem to know her own name? I took a sip.

"Tea."

"What?" She cut off mid-sentence.

"It's tea."

"Yessss?" She drew the end of the word out as question. Her eyes darted around for a moment before they met mine in confusion.

"You said you were making coffee." It was a statement.

"Oh! Sorry," She looked relieved, "we were low on creamer, and, since I only drink coffee when it disguised as something other than coffee and I didn't know how you liked yours, I made tea instead. I can go make coffee if you would rather have that. I probably should have asked." She pursed her lips as a sort of apology.

One of the benefits of being the god of lies is that I can always tell when others speak falsely. I sensed nothing in her explanation was necessarily untrue, but something rang hollow, a shadow of a lie. It was so faint that she herself probably wasn't aware of it, and even I was not sure if it were real or just a lingering fragment of my nightmares coupled with exhaustion. I decided to ignore the feeling.

"No, I actually prefer this," I said. The girl was strange and unfortunately talkative, but I was hardly one to complain when things worked to my liking without effort on my part.

"Oh, well, that's good…" She seemed uncomfortable with the quiet, but I saw no reason to cater to her needs. We sat there, sipping tea, for several minutes. Finally, she couldn't stand the strained silence any longer.

"So…Luke, how did you end up in a crater in the middle of the road?"

"Pardon?"

"I found you in a giant hole. The road was smashed and you were just lying in the middle of it."

"I suppose I landed there." I shrugged the substance of her question away. I suppose I was lucky to have fallen in a realm I knew and to be found by a mortal kind (or foolish) enough to take me in, but it was the other part of her question that interested me much more.

"Landed there? From where? People don't usually fall out of the sky, land in the road, and then survive." She sounded indignant, but I had no patience for her mortal emotions.

"Do not concern yourself. Why did you call me Luke?"

"Do not concern myself? I think falling from the sky requires a level past concern."

"My name is not Luke. Why did you call me that?" She ignored me in favor of working herself up.

"I brought a random stranger to my house. I think I deserve something a little better than 'do not concern yourself,' you ungrateful little—"

"Silence!" I commanded. I was quickly growing tired of her chatter. "I have told you what I will, and you will be content with it! I appreciate your hospitality. However, if you continue to ignore my questions I will be forced to do something terribly unpleasant." I gave her a tight smile that doubled as a condescending smirk and awaited her cooperation.

However, instead of being appropriately frightened into submission, she had the opposite reaction. Her eyes ignited in anger.

"Excuse you? I dragged your butt out of the middle of a _crater_, brought you into my

home when you where _half dead_, and then watched you have night terrors for _three days_. Forgive me if I don't exactly feel _threatened_." I didn't think it was possible, but her hair seemed to get wilder as she spoke. Her eyes sparked as she glared at me over her cup.

Not to be outdone by a mere mortal, I glared back at her. We remained that way for a time until the air went out of her and her eyes dropped. When she looked back up the blazing wildness had vanished.

"You sort of woke up when I found you so I asked your name. You made some weird sounds and all I got out of it was l-k-eh." When she sounded it out I heard a vague approximation of my name, although it could have been a vague approximation of many other names as well. "I just went with Luke. And since you haven't protested before now, I've been calling you that."

I nodded in acceptance and sipped my tea in silence.

"So what _is_ your real name?" she asked after several seconds.

I took a small satisfaction from the fact that my lack of response seemed to irk her. "I see no reason you should change your habits now. Luke will serve."

She opened her mouth as if to argue but quickly snapped it shut and sighed through her nose. Instead, she finished the remainder of her tea in one gulp, stood up, snatched away my own half-empty cup, and walked to the door. She turned around with a friendly smile that looked significantly more forced than the earlier one from a similar position.

"I'll be downstairs," she said in a voice both cutting and cheery. The mortal was a trial, but I must admit she had a fire I could not fail to appreciate. "Come get me if you need anything…or decide to stop being cryptic." She turned around and quickly disappeared from sight.


	3. Chapter 3

I remained sitting up in bed far at least an hour. Attempting to determine a suitable punishment for the premature removal of my beverage kept me occupied for quite a long time, but eventually I couldn't endure the room any longer. I stood up and headed towards the door.

It opened to a landing with a set of stairs going up. There were two closed doors to my left, a small bathroom and another closed door on the right. Since the girl had said she would be _downstairs_ I continued to the other end of the landing. There was a door on both sidewalls and a window at the end of the hall. It looked out over the ocean. Judging by the sunrise I was somewhere on an east coast, and based on the girl's language, it was the east coast of America. The large stones scattered around the beach and mild temperatures suggested a northern latitude. I turned and headed down the second flight of stairs.

It ended on a landing strangely similar to a large closet. There was a door on each wall and I was forced to check each of them before I came upon the girl from earlier. (The first door was another bathroom directly below the first; the second was an unused bedroom, the third led to a kitchen filled with appliances that looked as old as the house they inhabited. It wasn't until I tried the last one that I achieved my goal.)

The girl was sitting in an oddly designed reclining chair reading a sizeable book. There was a small table containing an empty bowl and a lamp next to her, but she got her light from the large windows that occupied the entire east wall. They provided an excellent view of the beach. The waves rolled back and forth across the sand. The small cove outside was calm on the clear morning.

"_The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_?" I said, alerting her to my presence.

The girl started in surprise and frowned at the sight of me. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before her face cleared into a charming, incredibly sharp smile.

"Of course," she said. "I only read the best. Are you a fan of the Bard?" Any sign of her earlier frustrations with me had completely vanished. She set the heavy volume down and stood to face me. She put her hands on her hips in a sort of casual challenge.

"I am familiar with his work, but have not had the opportunity to study it extensively. Would you not prefer lighter reading so early in the morning?" I folded my hands behind my back and returned her gaze. It was difficult to maintain my normal regality without socks, but I'm always up to a challenge.

"I've had enough experience with Shakespeare to find his language enjoyable rather than taxing. It's no trouble. As for the early hour, it's almost lunch time, and if you remember, I had a nap earlier." Her smile never faltered.

I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. My earlier impression may have been wrong; she wasn't just the prattling fool I'd heard before. She definitely had a talent for speaking. That was a skill I could appreciate, and the fire she had shown earlier was a bit…intriguing.

The girl had already shown a willingness to share her home. I needed only to convince her it was worthwhile to continue serving me. Yes, I would stay in this place; it suited my purposes well enough. And it didn't hurt that she might prove sufficiently entertaining until such a time when I could retrieve my magic. If nothing else it would give me a chance to study her perfectly crafted sharp smile. I determined it was in my best interest to change tactics.

"It seems we may have gotten off to a bad start earlier. Please, allow me to try again." I took a step forward and offered my most charming smile.

"By all means sir, go ahead." She waited.

"Please, call me…" She raised an eyebrow at my pause. I had decided to stay here, but it might be unwise to let this mortal know my true identity. "Luke." I decided to use the name she had already supplied. She knew it to be counterfeit, but I shouldn't have any trouble convincing her to overlook that small morsel. I took her hand in mine and touched it to my lips with a slight bow before releasing it.

She stood looking at me in silence, eyes narrowed, for several seconds before speaking. "Well then, _Luke_, how would you like a grand tour?"

"I would be honored."

"I bet you would. Well then, let's start here. This," she turned around and gestured to her vacated seat, "is my chair. It is where I eat ice cream and read Shakespeare whenever my houseguests are especially infuriating."

"A frequent problem, I take it?"

"More so recently." She gave her perfect hostess smile and retrieved her empty bowl from the side table. She pointed to the other end of the wall of windows where an identical chair sat next to an open door. "There is another chair over there, so if you have an uncontrollable urge to sit in one of these really awesome chairs, use that one and I will not have an uncontrollable urge to eat ice cream and read Shakespeare."

She turned back the way I had come. Various sizes of sitting implements sat facing a large box with colored buttons along the edge. The door I had previously used was near the end of the couch. "This is the living room area. There aren't many TV channels, but there is a DVD player. That's my dad's chair; you probably shouldn't sit in that one either." She pointed to assorted objects around the room as she spoke. I was not familiar with the names or their uses, but I had no intention of revealing this lack of knowledge.

"This is the dining room, even though there aren't any real walls." I followed her over to the other side of the open room occupied the ground floor. A large table stretched from where we were standing to the far wall. At least a dozen mismatched chairs and benches surrounded it. Coupled with the china cabinets along the wall, the whole thing seemed rather cramped.

"Are there many people here then?" I inquired. The place seemed empty, but the number of chairs conveyed something else.

"Nope. My sister's family visits sometimes, but it's usually just my dad and me. And now you."

"It seems you have an excessive amount of seating."

"Yeah…Dad had a big family, but they all moved away, so the old house stays pretty empty. And when I was at school he was all by himself. We really should redecorate, but I think he keeps hoping we'll fill up the table eventually." She looked sad for a moment, but the expression was quickly replaced by the now familiar smile that was much too cheerful to be believed.

"Anyway, that's not likely, so let's continue." She walked past the table and through the open door to the outside. I followed her onto a screened entryway.

"This is the porch," she continued. "You can hit the beach whenever you want, but do _not_ track sand in the house. It's impossible to clean up and there's a hosepipe next to the seawall." She pointed through the screen door but didn't go outside, nor did she explain purpose of a 'hosepipe.'

"There is a garage out back with a little apartment on top. We don't really have to look back there because the top is always locked up and I use the bottom for crafts. Nothing very interesting." She walked to the other end of the porch and through another open door.

"This is the kitchen. If you ever want anything I eat that can't be made in the microwave, toaster, blender, or coffee pot you'll have to make it yourself. My cooking skills are slightly…infamous." She grimaced to herself and continued walking after depositing her empty ice cream bowl into the sink.

"That's the other end of the dining room table." She gestured through an archway that led back into the large room but kept walking.

"You claim no talent at cooking, but the tea was by not completely inferior." I had actually quite enjoyed it, but she did not deserve that knowledge after taking my mug before I was finished.

"Wow, be careful. That almost sounded like a compliment." Her eyes flashed as she laughed. "Over the years I have mastered the art of boiling water without burning it. But disasters in other areas offset that small success. I could probably set ice on fire if I tried hard enough." She leaned into the door to the stairway. It swung open behind her.

"It seems you also lack an understanding of basic physics." I commented dryly.

"Screw physics. It obviously lacks an understanding of basically how bad I am at cooking." Her restatement was crude, but part of me couldn't help but be amused. Set ice on fire indeed.

"You've already been through here, but there is a bathroom, a coatrack, and a guest bedroom." She turned to climb the stairs. When she reached the top, she started with the door on her left.

"This is my dad's room." She rapped on the doorframe. "And this is my room." She walked to the opposite wall and opened the door to reveal a small room that might have been described as cozy if not for the stacks of boxes and piles of clothes on every surface. Instead of the narrow bed I'd woken up on, hers was easily twice the width; it gave her more surface area on which to pile clothes.

"Charming," I said sardonically.

"On second thought, let's not look at my room." The door closed with a snap. "I haven't exactly had time to unpack because I've been taking care of some guy, you know? He was half dead when I found him. I'm not sure what he was dreaming about, but there were times when it was just plain scary."

Was this mortal teasing me? She had some gall.

But instead of defiance her eyes showed…concern? As if I had any need for a stranger's compassion after being denied that of those I called my family.

"It sounds as though this stranger has much for which to thank you." I met her gaze straight on.

"Well, I don't know his name, but it would be nice if he could tell me himself. I'm still a bit worried. I want to make sure he's okay." The concern was still in her eyes, but she'd gone back to fishing for my true identity.

"I'll be sure to tell him if I see him." I smiled. I was very proud of it: still charming, but just enough edge to show that I knew exactly what she was up to and was much more experienced at this game.

"He should be hard to miss. Tall, dark hair, not bad looking, but I sensed a bit of an ego problem." Amusement had replaced concern in her grey eyes. The gibes returned.

I chuckled and started down the hallway with my hands clasped neatly behind my back. I couldn't remember the last time I'd found another person who could so skillfully conceal barbs with banter, certainly not during my days in Asgard. I was almost starting to enjoy her company.

"Shall we continue?" I glanced behind me and raised an eyebrow in query.

"Oh right," she blinked a few times and followed, "from left to right around the walls: closet, bathroom, your room, guest room, closet. And if you would, please follow me to the third floor." She pointed at each door in turn and started up the stairs with mock enthusiasm.

"Our last stop, I think, is the most interesting room in the whole house. The attic is where we keep most of the books, extra junk, and the remainder of the comfortable chairs." Once inside, she spread her arms to gesture to the entire open room. "Feel free to use anything up here, but, also know, if you don't take care of my books we will not get along and I know where you sleep." The sharp smile had returned with a vengeance.

"There will be no trouble there. I was very fond of books growing up. I know how to care for them." That was true and seemed to reassure her.

She hadn't lied about this being the most interesting room in the house. A few feet up the ceiling slanted inward to a point, but below that the walls were lined with shelves. Stacks of books were piled on various tables and areas of the floor. Two armchairs sat under the east-facing window where the stairs opened; a lamp stood between them.

I turned and followed the girl to the other end of the room, scanning the shelves as I went. A pile of plastic boxes was shoved into the far corner. She was halfway under something that looked like a bed without quilts.

"Is that part of the tour?" I asked, mocking innocence.

"Huh?" she looked up and smacked her head against a metal support bar. I couldn't help but smile to myself as I stood straight.

"No, sorry," she wiggled out and wiped off the nonexistent dust. "It's supposed to be a futon, but sometimes it gets stuck. One minute and I'll get it fixed." This time she climbed on top and pulled one side of the metal frame. I wasn't sure exactly what a 'futon' was, but as she continued tugging the strange bed it became a sort of strange couch. Mortals are lowly, but I must admit sometimes they amaze even me with the things they come up with. Why would anyone need a bed that turned into a chair? Why could they not simply sit on the bed?

When she finally succeeded in causing the miraculous transformation, the girl snatched several blankets from a pile in the corner. She tossed them over the back of the newly created couch and threw pillows at each end.

When the coverings were presumably returned to their proper places, she collapsed into the seat with an exaggerated sigh. She cracked an eyelid to look at me and patted the spot next to her in invitation. I sat down carefully, folding my hands in my lap.

"My dad's been on a fishing trip with his buddies for the last few days, so he hasn't seen you yet. But, I couldn't exactly tell him I picked up a random stranger from the middle of the road and brought him home. So when he called, I told him I brought a friend home from college to stay with us for a while. That would be you." She poked my arm gently. Her finger seemed unusually warm on my skin. "So if he asks, you're Luke…" Her eyes flashed green for an instant. I thought I'd been imaging it, but something was happening. I was almost certain. "…um, Thorne the Norwegian exchange student and my good friend. Since you don't actually know anything about me, I suggest avoiding him as much as possible until we can work on our story."

"Why Norway?" I asked, curious.

"It just seemed right. You sound European, but I don't know enough about Europe to know exactly where. Plus, Scandinavia is cool right?" She grinned, genuinely this time, not the carefully polite smile from earlier.

"Quite literally," I replied. She laughed, although I hadn't thought my comment amusing enough to merit it. Her hair caught the light form the western window and lit up like a flame.

"And my assumed surname? Have I been such a trouble to you that you name me a thorn in your side?"

"How did you ever guess?" she said, holding her side dramatically as if injured, but any pain was from laughter, not any work of mine.

When she calmed down she answered again. "I didn't mean it like that, but it's funny now that you mention it. Luke Thorne just sounds like a cool name. And if you spell it with an 'e' on the end, it just looks like a name and not part of a plant."

All of a sudden her stomach let out a loud gurgle.

"Sounds like it's lunch time," She said. "I'll go downstairs and warm something up. Are you hungry?"

"I'll be down in a few minutes. I'd like to take a closer look at your library."

"Okay. I'll fix you a plate when you come down." She rose and disappeared down the stairs.

I remained in place for several minutes, thinking. The girl seemed sincere in her concern for a stranger. The only time I'd sensed any lie was her perfectly crafted sugary smile and the echo when she brought the tea. The first I could appreciate (I fully intended to use it for my own purposes later. One does not simply let such a finely crafted work of art go to waste.), but the second was troubling. If she had openly tried to deceive me I would know it, but it was as if she didn't consciously recognize the lie herself.

Just now she had guessed my region of origin without realizing it. And she would name me after my own sacred rune. Hardship, suffering, and frost giants. I frowned. I supposed I couldn't complain about it being inaccurate, but this girl seemed to know things she should not. Perhaps this was some trick of Odin's, meant to ensnare me again.

Well, it wouldn't work. I am Loki, master trickster. I would watch the girl carefully. All of her insights seemed to come when her eyes flashed green. It was as if they were mirroring my own for an instant. Yes, I would watch her carefully. If this was the work of the Allfather, I could surely put to my own use to get my powers back. Until then I would accept her hospitality and learn what I could.

The prince of lies is not easily fooled.

…_..._

Stop mentally raising you hand. You look like an imbecile.

_But I have something to say._

Fine, for this moment, and this moment only, you have my permission to speak.

_Oh good, I didn't want to induce torture-by-unfailing-wit._

Do not tempt me.

_Sorry, but I do have a question. I thought you said mental parenthetical comments were unnecessary and irritating. Why do you get to use them?_

I did say that. However, because I am narrating—and generally superior, I am not bound by the same rules.

_Yes, because that frame of mind has always worked out well for you in the past._

Irrelevant.

…

Mental eye-rolls are another thing that I can indulge in but you may not.

_I'll keep that in mind._

It's best you do.


End file.
